Any column that lovingly pokes fun at toys with nostalgic reverence would be remiss in not mentioning Stinkor. All you have to do is say the word “Stinkor” and that’s enough. Masters of the Universe was in full swing with their Literal Naming System (LNS) with this guy. I’m pretty sure the name “Fartor” was probably thrown around at the meeting, but nixed in favor of this more politically correct name.
Not made into toys were Stinkor’s two brothers: Sweator (EVIL MASTER OF SWEATING) and Belchor (EVIL MASTER OF BURPING).
I was about to make a joke about “Drunkor” and “Stonedor”, but then remembered there was in fact a “Stonedar”. Well played, Mattel. Rokkon!
Anyway…onto the main feature of Senor stinkypants here, and one of the greatest action features any toy has ever had–and this is coming from somebody who hates action features. (which makes my love of MotU odd. But is it an action feature if it’s the point of the figure? There’s an entire philosophical dilemma here.)
Stinkor’s smell.
You remember it. Anybody who has ever owned Stinkor has that smell embedded in his brain and his nostrils. If you have the toy and he’s been packed away in a decent enough environment, yours may still smell. The first thing I did when I dug him out was shove him up to my nose and take a whiff, like the world’s most misinformed cocaine addict.
Oh yeah…that’s the smell of childhood.
Sometimes I wonder exactly what chemical from hell they introduced into the plastic to keep him smelling so fragrant for so many years. And then I reconsider. I probably don’t want to know.
If you’re like me, initially you may think that stinking doesn’t seem like an effective power to have…but I think we’re underestimating just how powerful he stinks…which leads me to an anecdote that shows how Stinkor may just own the title of SKELETOR’S MOST EVIL HENCHMAN.
About ten years ago I walked up to the line at a grocery store. There was an older lady about two people in front of me. As I stood there, I noticed that the checkout girl and the bagboy were glancing at each other, making faces. The lady in front of me turned around, rubbing her hand under her nose. What she was really doing was trying to keep from breathing as politely as possible.
Then it hit me. Right in the face. This horrible, unnatural smell that had a weight and density, that infected the air that it lingered in. A polluted, foul, crusty, angry odor that encased the entire front of the store, that was emanating in almost visible stink lines from this elderly woman. I know what you’re thinking…the poor old girl had pooped herself.
I wish it was that simple.
This wasn’t the smell of an errant defecation in a poor octogenarian…this was the stench of pure, unwashed, kill-it-again-because-it-has-to-be-dead, malevolent, toxic, nastiness. This was the smell of an old woman who had not bathed in decades–perhaps ever. This was the literal Stench of Evil that Stinkor was supposed to embody. We–the patrons of the grocery store–had been stricken defenseless by the ripe, clinging, painful, nose-eroding smell that this old woman seemed possessed by. It was body odor times a thousand. It made you want to stick your face into a landfill to get away from that smell. A skunk was perfume by comparison.
I think I’ve made my point. It was no damn good.
When she left, the employees sprayed the entire area with air freshener, which only served to knock down the demonic smell without killing it entirely. Apparently, she was a regular customer, and her effect was the same each time.
She glared with her hate and her snarl, and left her mark everywhere. That is Stinkor’s power. You can’t fight back. You can’t hit it, shoot it, you can only run, run as far as you can, and once you’ve smelled the worst smell ever, all you can do is respect it. And hope to never run into it again.
Compared to that, a dude with Spikes all over his body, or a dude with three eyes seems kind of innocuous.
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